tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41176768721531259532024-03-13T06:15:43.148-07:00Positively PerfectThings turn out best for people who make the best of the way things turn outAnnabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-76432648716374426552012-12-11T18:04:00.000-08:002012-12-11T18:04:19.576-08:00It was the freakin weekin...weekend?...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think I've got to just come right out and say it. It's not something I've been looking forward to but I don't think I could help it if I tried. I'm moving past denial, and gently easing myself down the winding road of acceptance. </div>
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Lo and behold, against all efforts to the contrary, I am my mother's daughter. Shocker, I know. </div>
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In many ways, I am grateful. I mean, my mom rocks. She really does. But she also really lives the life of a crazy person, packing in 48 hours worth of stuff into every 24 hour period, making lists of lists and constantly flitting from project to project. That woman is a force to be reckoned with. And heck, who doesn't want to be known as a force to be reckoned with? That is pretty rad. </div>
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But it is also pretty exhausting some days. Like woah. And sometimes I get up the druthers to say <b>ENOUGH! </b>And, then, of course, I apologize to myself because, seriously, how rude!</div>
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This weekend was an attempt at an "enough" weekend. And I loved it. And it exhausted me. But still I loved it. Although it was a complete and utter "enough" failure.</div>
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I had finally finished with my class on Wednesday night and was ecstatic to have the weight of schoolwork off my shoulders for the weekend. Even when I am procrastinating, it looms heavy and large and full of Catholic guilt. So this weekend, the vapors vanished and I could make plans free of any real obligations. So I filled up every hour possible. Crazy person, that's me. </div>
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We started the weekend right with an amazing dinner of oysters and sashimi and all other delights I hope to not eat for the better part of 2013. It's like my binge before the diet. It was heaven. And a horrible idea. I mean, if life doesn't work out as planned, I could get really fat from all this binging! Oh and did I mention my light-weight drinking status has evolved to a no-weight status? I had a glass of reisling, foolishly ordered another, and then realized before starting glass #2, that I was drunk. Not crazy drunk, let's be real here. But tipsy funny drunk. Oh lordy. Family Christmas will be an experience!</div>
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We spent the rest of the weekend happily Christmas shopping, seeing two of Chris's groomsmen who came in town and their fabulous families/significant others, and spending time on the couch. But before all that, I made us walk around the city for 2 hours running 9 different errands and feeling more and more excited with each one that was crossed off the list. Afterwards, we really needed naps. </div>
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Peace so often eludes me. Or rather, I elude peace. At this time of being anxious about so many things, from the daily chores to be done, to the holidays to prepare for, to the question of what life looks like for us next year, I need peace more than ever. I keep waiting for it to come to me, but maybe that's just not who I am. Maybe I need to embrace my mother's genes and take pride in my reckoning force, in my ability to accomplish, to busy my body in order to rest my mind. To say enough....but not really mean it. And love life anyways. </div>
<br />Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264887187128376780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-21464879739899853542012-12-06T07:48:00.000-08:002012-12-06T07:48:15.935-08:00Praying for Boobs.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have always wanted to be a woman. I couldn't wait to wear high heels, have boobs to fill out something other than a training bra, and I would even pray to the divine Lord above for him to send me my period. Seriously, He must have gotten a good laugh outta that one. </div>
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I would steal away to my mom's closet when she wasn't in town, trying on her high heels, dressing up in these ridiculous fur coats from my great-grandmother, and putting on "big girl bras" to see if I'd gotten any closer to filling them out (I hadn't). I would imagine the parties I would throw, wearing pearls and saying "oh daaaaahling, so divine of you to come" and giggling while swirling a glass of white zinfandel. I would imagine reminding my husband to pick up the dry cleaning, picking children up from school in the back of my '69 orange firebird convertible, and generally living the good life. </div>
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I had</div>
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<b>no idea</b></div>
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what I was in for.</div>
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I still don't. </div>
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I still find myself craving these same desires of what I define as womanhood. The marital bliss, the brood of children, the high heels, and yes, swirling glasses of wine (though thankfully I've upgraded from white zin!) with "daaaaaahling" girlfriends. But now I know it doesn't come so easy. It's not a rite of passage, not an automatic punch in your card of life experiences when age X comes around. I knew at that young age that some day I'd be allowed to wear high heels, that my period would come, that boobs more or less would grow, and eventually I could drink wine if I wanted to. I never knew that the rest wouldn't work out that way, too.</div>
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All of those things mean nothing to me now when compared with the desires that don't come as easily. I know now that not all of us find our soul mates at the age the media and movies and the little girl inside have us expecting, if ever. And when we do, sometimes it isn't all bliss. I know now that having children is hard work and not something that happens easily without a lot of praying, planning, and quiet dreams that are only whispered for fear of how many pieces our hearts will break into if they aren't fulfilled. And this isn't even talking about the work that comes after they are actually born!<br />
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But the quiet recesses of my mind are full. No longer do I desire to steal away to my mother's closet, to keep my longings secret and hidden. I am wiser, if not more scared, by my knowledge of the lack of fairytale endings. And in all my wisdom, I know that to share this fear is the only way to endure it. To be there for each other, no matter what battle the other is facing, and to do so with love, compassion, and okay a big bottle of wine, too!, is the ultimate stamp of what it means to be a woman. To endure together, lovingly, with acceptance, humility, and faith.<br />
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I am so thankful for my sisters, for their love and their willingness to listen to my fears and share their own. Now I just pray that I have them by my side and I by theirs. The boobs can wait.Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264887187128376780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-66076659390901645202012-12-05T09:31:00.001-08:002012-12-05T09:41:15.838-08:00Deleted Text Messages<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am a planner. Life, to me, is one big adventure that's best experienced via an organized list of bullet points, including, but not limited to, detailed notes on priorities, deadlines, and important numbers. I can go on and on. Try me. Oh sure, sometimes I try to pretend that I love to go with the flow and let the wind take me where she blows and oh, this little ol' thing? Oh, I just threw it together.<br />
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It's not. It never is. I am a bold faced liar. And now you know.<br />
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But last night, I was asked to go on an adventure where no list was provided. No details on what to expect, whom to expect, and whether I'd be fed! All I got was "gym clothes are fine! I'm wearing rainboots!" And oh I already had the text message written out with a (true!) excuse about feeling woozy from giving blood, only having an hour sleep the night before, yada yada yada. And oh the Catholic guilt that was setting in about flaking on my friend, my dear sweet friend who I love so much, who I haven't seen in so long, and who I won't see again until the new year! But oh I was hungry!<br />
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And so I deleted the text and said instead, I'm on my way.<br />
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Who was that girl? Seriously!<br />
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Sometimes, though, you really do just have to let go. Whether it's out of obligation, exhaustion, or a momentary lapse in judgment due to voluntary blood loss. And I am so glad I did. It felt so good to be with my friend. Something about her makes things inside me go siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh and relax in the comfort of being with another soul who loves you for who you are and doesn't care what's hidden under the bed. And she introduced me to two of her new friends who made my belly ache from laughter and who I enjoyed more and more with every second that went by. And so many seconds went by! Oh and did I mention side ponytails were involved?<br />
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I came home more exhausted than when I left, but with a renewed vigor and spirit whispering inside me that it was all going to be okay. Because sometimes I over-analyze my life. And I judge myself on the number and quality of friends I have. And I feel so down about it that it is hard to want to go on and try to make things better. I shy away from new friendships because if my current friends don't even seem like they want to have a connection with me, why should strangers? And if we're thinking of leaving the city in a year, what's the point? I can make it through another year without friends. And on and on it goes until I am saddened and resigned to live a life half fulfilled.<br />
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But last night reminded me that filling up that other half was possible. That life and love awaits me if I'm willing to give it a chance. But I just might have to let go of some plans and be open to some new ones.<br />
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Okay, world. I'm on my way.Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264887187128376780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-19534149924462100402012-12-04T08:22:00.000-08:002012-12-04T08:22:05.444-08:00Scared of the Awesome<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image credit: Google Image Search</td></tr>
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Do you ever find that when you get so close to something you want so badly and have worked hard for, you suddenly start to PaNiC? And question all your past judgments and reasons for working hard towards this goal?<br />
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I do.<br />
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Oh, I do.<br />
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We are on the cusp of an exciting adventure. The culmination of twenty-nine years of living, loving, and learning to get to this point. Of manifesting what I know in my soul to be my true purpose for living. Of something I think I will pretty darn good at, if I do say so myself.<br />
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Except for one little thing.<br />
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I<br />
am<br />
terrified.<br />
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I am so scared of my life not matching up with my dreamlike expectations. I am so scared of failure. Of misjudging the right time for this or for that. That there will be struggles and hardships and regrets. That I will not be strong enough to survive and will instead become someone I don't want to be. Someone bitter and mean and pessimistic.<br />
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But, if I am honest with myself, there's no way I can't leap. No way to not move forward and trust in all God's wisdom that everything will work out in His time. Not in my time. But in His. And it will be glorious and good. Even the parts that are trying on my patience, my need to plan, plan, plan and control, control, control.<br />
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It will be good.<br />
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<br />Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264887187128376780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-38169878082791243912011-04-26T19:52:00.000-07:002011-04-26T19:52:36.836-07:00#37. Teetotaling is for the birdsI did it. Oh it was hard but I did it. 47 days, mind you. FORTY-SEVEN. That 40 days and 40 nights of Lent doohicky is a lie. A bold-faced lie. Did I give up at 40 days or take Sundays off because I could? No. No I did not. Did I want to? Only when I remembered and was feeling like a martyr and wanted to get my way about something with the Mr. Awesome (which by the way did not work! that serpent!). Woe, woe was me.<br />
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But hallelujah and all that jazz! Christ is risen and I'm back on the drink! And literally, <i>the</i> drink because that's all it takes nowadays. Just the one and pfff! I am donezo. It is that quick and I kid you not.<br />
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But you know what is the biggest revelation of all?<br />
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It wasn't that hard. And I kind of want back on the wagon. Shhh.<br />
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The hardest part of all was when my own mother decided to be a bad influence and tempt me to the dark side! She did not win. I persevered. We are still friends but I will never forget that! Never! Probably only because she had some of my favorite wine and I love having wine with my mama, especially when it's my favorite.<br />
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But here is where I stand on my pedestal (oh look at that! we're the same height now! i can't even see those stray hairs on the underside of your chin now!) and toot my own horn and maybe, just maybe, get a little sentimental.<br />
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This now marks the 6th year in a row! that I have not given up on my Lenten promise. That is a big thing for me because while I am stubborn as all get-out, I usually fail with self-improvement (those extra love handles around my waist? yup, been there for quite some time now!). And when I fail, so does my self-esteem. But for whatever reason, when I became an adult (aka graduated and got myself a real j-o-b), I made Lenten resolutions that were SMART and kept them. Every single one. No excuses, no leeway, no cheating.<br />
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And it's made me realize just how silly they are. Just how much they don't matter. But just how much I want to do them because it's <i>something</i>. Some way to say thanks. That I can't comprehend but I acknowledge and am grateful for what I've been given. That there's no way not drinking for <s>40</s> 47 days will be at all comparable to giving up my life, for being my Savior before I was even born and before my mother's mother's mother's mother's mother was born. For being the only refuge I have ever known and the solace I keep searching for even though I know He's there.<br />
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It reminds me every day that I'm here because of someone else, for someone else. It humbles me and empowers me and generally makes me want to hug everyone I see (watch out, I'm a hugger!). It is sincerely awesome. Kinda like Him.<br />
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Cheers to that!Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-74469392691066011132011-04-18T19:12:00.000-07:002011-04-18T19:12:12.343-07:00#36. This Blog Does Not Suckhello darling. miss me? oh, i missed you, too!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">so what have i been up to in my absence? well i have been reading (slash obsessing) over <a href="http://www.mattlogelin.com/">this blog</a>. and i'll tell you what...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">this</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> blog</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> sucks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">it sucks because it quickly reeled me in and it makes me so sad and depressed and heartbroken. and then it makes me terrified that i could go through the same thing someday. and more than anything in the whole wide world, i never ever ever ever want to be without my LOML. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">so reading this blog is not a good idea. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">unless you want a story that will capture your heart. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">then it is a great idea.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">but don't forget the kleenex!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and if you do venture down this path of sadness, kleenex in tow, don't forget to cheer yourself up afterwards. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">i did. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">here are the happy thoughts i decided to conjur up this morning to shake off the gloom and doom<br />
(dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1) it is a beautiful day down here in the Valley. people who live down here definitely don't have to worry about bringing in their basil at night! (more on that later)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2) as the wind whipped through my hair, i realized, my hair smells great today. i mean GREAT! how awesome is that? AND it probably means i can get away without washing it tomorrow, hallelujah!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3) the grass at goog definitely needs to be mowed. it was all wet and long and the ground underneath so squishy. and then i thought this is EXACTLY the kind of grass my Nutmeg loves.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and i smiled. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">go on. get out there and do some smiling</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(and put down that blog of sadness!)</div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PS did i tell you that we got a dog???<br />
well, now you know!<br />
and don't even try to tell me Nutmeg isn't the cutest lil troublemaker in the world<br />
just don't.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-37306644526791335252011-03-26T00:01:00.000-07:002011-03-26T00:01:04.582-07:00#35. Sober Sister FlashbacksSo what's an almost-wife to do when she is left home by herself on a Friday night? I'll tell you what, a whole lotta nothing.<br />
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I have been selfishly indulged by my LOML's presence lately and we have done all sorts of fun things like eat at home because I am trying SO VERY HARD on this new diet, go for walks in the rain, buy a new couch, watch Greek episodes (yes, we have just discovered the show and yes, we realize the series finale has already happened), search the internet for a doggie to love...the list goes on and on and on. It does! You get my point.<br />
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So, what? We've been lazy pieces of you-know-what lately and I've been LOVING it (bah do ba ba baaaaaah!). So when LOML decided to return to the real world of friends and basketball and beers and NO GIRLS ALLOWED on Friday night, well, I was at a loss. What exactly did I do before the U+ME=US phase of co-habitation? I mean, surely I did something? Surely?<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-pLW37wAtEH0/TYFcyI2ynXI/AAAAAAAAC2E/17yl528y8Vk/s1600/IMG_0385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-pLW37wAtEH0/TYFcyI2ynXI/AAAAAAAAC2E/17yl528y8Vk/s400/IMG_0385.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><br />
You see, what this Lenten experiment into the world of non-drinking has taught me is that, on a Friday night, most of my girlfriends are down for a <s>glass</s> bottle of wine (or two). And not wanting to indulge leaves you a bit on the sidelines. So...I'm coming up with my list of things to do while sober (and apparently, alone). Here it goes:<br />
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<ul><li> You can make yourself a granita (doesn't that sound fancy?). And you don't have to share! And...you can get lazy halfway through and turn that granita into a lovely bowl of strawberries and mango and put the ice back in the freezer and no one will know the wiser. Success!</li>
<li>You can put the basketball game on mute. You can stop paying attention, find yourself at halftime, and not worry about what you've missed or feel like your life just flashed before your eyes and the game is only halfway over, oh em gee. You can even unmute during those talking baby commercials and laugh out loud and not be judged for your incredibly caveman-developed sense of humor. And you can watch Kourtney & Kim on DVR when you get bored (shhh!).</li>
<li>You can make new dance party playlists and pause while doing so to, well, you know, to shake what yo momma gave ya!</li>
<li>Did I mention not having to share your strawberry-mango-bowl-of-God's-goodness?</li>
</ul><div>It was a great night. Oh, and the laundry got done. But I was really, really glad when LOML came home. Even though I was already asleep because, hey, looking this good don't come easy! Beauty rest and all that.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_sFAoE3irRw/TYFc8lK_fXI/AAAAAAAAC4c/Z4g4azv9sTM/s1600/IMG_0420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_sFAoE3irRw/TYFc8lK_fXI/AAAAAAAAC4c/Z4g4azv9sTM/s400/IMG_0420.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aren't we a good-lookin' bunch? I miss you, sister friends!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-47738469116843568612011-03-25T19:22:00.000-07:002011-03-25T19:22:53.446-07:00#34. Well Hello There, Sunshine!I will not talk about Rebecca Black.<br />
I will not talk about Rebecca Black.<br />
I will not talk about Rebecca Black.<br />
I will not talk about Rebecca Black.<br />
I will not talk about Rebecca Black.<br />
<br />
But, oh, have you heard about Rebecca Black? Okay, good, because then I can refrain from expressing my opinion on Rebecca Black! REBECCA BLACK! This world has gone to the dogs or something like that.<br />
<br />
And did you know that I could do 31 pushups? 31! THIRTY-ONE! In a row! Exclamation point! I did not know that I was even close to capable of such a feat and oh how it put a little tickle of joy in my heart. And a tickle of pain in my left tricep that may or may not go away by Monday. Say a prayer for me oh please oh please oh please. And pass the paprikash. And I would love to partake in your pecan pie. Pecan piiiiiiiiiiie.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.listal.com/image/458930/300full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="http://i.listal.com/image/458930/300full.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
BEST.MOVIE.EVER. THE.END<br />
<br />
So in my overdue return to this blog, I am not going to talk about this week's car accident. I am not going to talk about the next day's stolen bike. Nor will I talk about the late late late night of work on a presentation that never ended up happening. Or the torrential downpour that has been all I can see out my window for the last bazillion days. Don't be sad. There are other topics we can discuss!<br />
<br />
Like doing a tour on YouTube today and reintroducing myself to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkCNJRfSZBU">Leeroy Jenkins</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he5fpsmH_2g">Charlie</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txqiwrbYGrs">David</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vFVnTMwt3w">Grape Lady</a>. Oh hello, friends. I have missed you. You never cease to make me laugh so hard I cry...seriously. And all we had at work to wipe my tears were compostable napkins. And let me tell you something...those suckers disintegrate for a reason. They are already dead scratchiness. But even their maiming of my eyeballs couldn't take away from my YouTube lovefest 2K11.<br />
<br />
And, then, walking home today, I saw the sun. And I sang OUT LOUD here comes the sun (dootin doo doo)! And then it promptly tucked itself behind a cloud never to be seen again. Coincidence? We may never know.<br />
<br />
Leeroy, you are just stupid as hell.<br />
At least I have chicken.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thinkgeek.com/images/products/additional/carousel/e715_leeroy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.thinkgeek.com/images/products/additional/carousel/e715_leeroy.jpg" /></a></div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-45702213762802921382011-03-09T00:01:00.000-08:002011-03-09T00:01:05.620-08:00#33. Spring Break Trippin'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_dQZyoF3BGnU/TGTMXLky2II/AAAAAAAAAfQ/4-F0Qo5MwmQ/s720/IMG_0249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_dQZyoF3BGnU/TGTMXLky2II/AAAAAAAAAfQ/4-F0Qo5MwmQ/s400/IMG_0249.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Today I woke up on time (almost!). To Mr. Awesome's spring break'ing self's delight, I didn't snooze once this morning. Not once! Who's Awesome now?<br />
<br />
So let's talk about spring break. It sounds all sorts of fun, right? You think of beaches and lovely tans and maybe maaaaaaybe a corona or two? Just sayin'. Sometimes that break in spring gets craaaaaazy.<br />
<br />
But not for the Awesomes in 2011. Nope, not at all. Oh, you want to know what's making this spring break so tame? Well, for starters, I am not on break. I am workin' 9 to 5 and then some. Boo that.<br />
<br />
For seconds, it's rainy days in the 'frisco wonderland. Which I don't mind at all. We went on a crazy rain adventure walk this weekend and it was fantastic until the end when my feet didn't feel like walking anymore and we still had SO. FAR. TO. GO. It was a march to the death at the end I tell you and when I got home, I did not feel good even one little bit. (Don't despair; I'm feeling all kinds of better now). But regardless, rain does not conjure up images of a spring break gone right.<br />
<br />
And thirdly, can you keep a secret? I'm sorry Mr. Awesome, but I have to share. Please forgive me. My wild partying fiance whom I love so much spent day one of said break.....cleaning the floors in our apartment! I mean, I can't say that I wasn't overcome with delight and renewed remembrance of how much I love him but don't you feel just a little bad for the guy? Just a little?<br />
<br />
Well stop yourself right there!!! because we ARE taking a spring break trip believe you me! We are taking a long weekend and going toooooooooooooo.....Sioux City.<br />
<br />
I know. Blows your socks right off, huh?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a8.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-ash1/v143/245/62/3409099/n3409099_35649720_6246.jpg?dl=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://a8.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-ash1/v143/245/62/3409099/n3409099_35649720_6246.jpg?dl=1" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was seriously a town pride campaign for awhile there. I can't even make stuff like this up. You're welcome.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-42959330052483793142011-03-08T00:01:00.000-08:002011-03-08T00:01:00.611-08:00#32. Every Party has a PooperOkay, so there's a little something I'd like to get off my chest. It's not a big something, don't you worry. But I will feel OH SO MUCH BETTER once it's out there.<br />
<br />
That something is called the San Francisco Giants. Now, I don't have anything against the men who choose to stand in a diamond in Halloween colors for the better part of each year personally per se....but I<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">just. </div><div style="text-align: center;">don't. </div><div style="text-align: center;">get. </div><div style="text-align: center;">it. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Seeeeeeriously. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>It's baseball season AGAIN? What possibly on earth could be more boring? And for such an extended period of time? How many hours will I spend on the freeway this season? How many????<br />
<br />
Do you think if I put on my best pouty face they'd move the stadium to, oh I dunno, Mars? What would you give me if I tried?<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
anne the party pooper<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/_dQZyoF3BGnU/TC1CoPc7ocI/AAAAAAAAABs/FYYdFZ9JuZg/s720/IMG_0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/_dQZyoF3BGnU/TC1CoPc7ocI/AAAAAAAAABs/FYYdFZ9JuZg/s400/IMG_0183.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>PS - is it okay for me to still wear my Giants sweatshirt though? I look all kinds of cute in it. Lemme know!Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-80060197900486716032011-03-07T09:10:00.000-08:002011-03-07T18:58:22.552-08:00#31. A Good Hair Day Can Only Mean One Thing<div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-5Fd4-77fg4o/SPWqlX2PDxI/AAAAAAAAAlU/aD1MgFLrqJg/s320/IMG_0299.JPG" width="240" /></span></div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"></div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span>How did I know today would be a good, no a great! , day? It took me only 20 mins to do my hair. Twenty! We're talking both drying and straightening this thick curly mane of mine. And yes the straightening job is probably not in the top ten of all time but I am most impressed with myself. I usually can't even get through the blowdrying process that quickly! Hooray for Mondays!</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">But then, convinced today had something great in store for me, I almost missed the bus. Almost! It shut the door just as I turned the corner but thankfully my winning smile caused that sucker to pop fight back open. Was this another good omen? Or a sign of things turning for the worst?</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">(PS typing errors are sometimes the BEST. For example, on my Droid right now and things originally came up as thongs. Haha, LOL style and all that jazz. Seriously laughing not only because my sense of humor never evolved beyond the 4th grade - thanks, dad! - but because I also remember showing up to college at USC without any clue that thongs related to lacey underthings and I constantly would shout "almost ready, just let me grab my thongs!" when hunting for some summer footwear of the flipflop persuasion. No wonder I was very not cool my first year! Did my coolness improve in years 2 through 4? One may never know but I did stop using the word thongs in any way shape or form!)</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">(PPS how do we feel about my sidebars being the longest parts of my stories? Is this wildly entertaining like a choose your own adventure book or obnoxious? Pray tell...!)</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">So where was I? Oh yes...</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Peeling off my coat for fear of dying of heat exhaustion (or the smell of my own sweat from running with two heavy bags to the bus!), I powered up my laptop only to find a little sad orange light blinking at me as if to say, sorry try again later bonehead who didn't charge her computer all night.</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">So here I am, typing away on my phone, wondering what could this all mean? Good day or bad day? How will I ever decide? Good thing I've got this luscious hair to toss over my shoulders while I ponder.</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Ma8emxYn_ws/TXWWyUp7k6I/AAAAAAAACzc/GOdy2gJJ8n8/s1600/IMG_20110304_075758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Ma8emxYn_ws/TXWWyUp7k6I/AAAAAAAACzc/GOdy2gJJ8n8/s320/IMG_20110304_075758.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wqpKImg5xtc/TXWW0KTFK0I/AAAAAAAACzg/9spnedTyuMY/s1600/IMG_20110304_075832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wqpKImg5xtc/TXWW0KTFK0I/AAAAAAAACzg/9spnedTyuMY/s320/IMG_20110304_075832.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-s57dAE89ehM/TXWW03FAl8I/AAAAAAAACzk/WSXIWxfrLPk/s1600/IMG_20110304_075808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-s57dAE89ehM/TXWW03FAl8I/AAAAAAAACzk/WSXIWxfrLPk/s320/IMG_20110304_075808.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-89348654733402112002011-03-03T08:46:00.000-08:002011-03-03T19:05:04.774-08:00#30. Delorian DreamsLately I have been thinking a lot about what I could have had/been/done in a parallel universe. You know, like one of those movies where if you pick up the phone or don't pick up the phone, your life is forever changed? I am positive that one of those moments (or several!) have happened to me and I just didn't have the fortitude to know (darn you, fortitude! where were you when I needed you? hanging out with common sense, that no good hussy?!?).<br />
<br />
Seriously, I know I was supposed to be famous and beautiful and independently wealthy and so on & so forth, but somewhere down the road, I went a little sideways. Do you ever feel that way? Not, to be exact, that you are going sideways but that somehow you did the wrong thing with the phone? If you are feeling the former, it's time to put down the whisky!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-i0oFuhfsWiM/S0qvfMD6IJI/AAAAAAAABvI/Z6DjbBtELqQ/s1600/P1231038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-i0oFuhfsWiM/S0qvfMD6IJI/AAAAAAAABvI/Z6DjbBtELqQ/s400/P1231038.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<br />
For instance, these are supposed to be the best years of my life, right? I'm supposed to mourn over the loss of this 27-year-old body of mine and wish for it back in years to come - as if!!! Let's be serious; I'm mourning over this sucker now! This 5'2" package is not what I was hoping for when I tried every diet known to man over the last 10 years. And the early onset of wrinkles from work-related stress, let's not even go there.<br />
<br />
And what about all the fun you're supposed to be having in your twenties? Going to fabulous parties and "living the life" with your gaggle of girlfriends - I assume they were not talking about my Saturday night curled up in bed watching season 1 of Jersey Shore? Did I really just admit that? Should we end this post here? It's all becoming too much to bear! (Oh, did I mention how dramatic I was? You should know about that before going any further!) But yes, I admit it. Hi my name is Anne and I live vicariously through Snooki & JWoww. I see now that they are not really my friends in my real life. But...I really want the Snooki poof and Jenni's (fake) boobs. C'mon. You do, too!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.tvgasm.com/wp-content/uploads/Snooki-and-Jwoww.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="http://www.tvgasm.com/wp-content/uploads/Snooki-and-Jwoww.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, are either of those things real?<br />
courtesy of google image search</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But I am really blessed. You know it and I know it. I have a job, a j-o-b yo! (hahahaha and a REALLY great sense of humor, don't you think?) and the paycheck comes every other Friday without fail. I have a home, a place that I can really call my own (well <i>our </i>own since I have to share it with that Mr. Awesome fellow, but details!), and that I am loving getting to decorate and put my mark on. I have four sisters who used to fight with me like the dickens when we were younger and who I never thought I'd be close to and really just wanted to be far away from and who now I can't live without. I can't. I don't need much of anything if we're honest, but I need them. And I have the sweetest father who loves us so much it almost makes you feel guilty. And my mother who never let us make excuses for ourselves and challenged us to be the best possible and gave us the loving family and home life she never got to really have. And my Boppa who I adore and want to be like in just every way and my Nana who drives me crazy but you can't help but love and my Gram who made me so proud to be a strong woman who takes care of her family NO MATTER WHAT and...the list goes on. I am blessed. It's time to start being grateful - I mean, that's what this blog was supposed to be all about, right?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-QmZFx4j6Id8/S0qvZdf0sNI/AAAAAAAABxU/1Ffi-oyEcaQ/s1600/P1231022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-QmZFx4j6Id8/S0qvZdf0sNI/AAAAAAAABxU/1Ffi-oyEcaQ/s320/P1231022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And who knows? Maybe the phone will ring!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UOggrar_gV0/TBzsxEAGeYI/AAAAAAAAB80/ZUIXNcq7fNM/s1600/Sister+Photo+Booth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UOggrar_gV0/TBzsxEAGeYI/AAAAAAAAB80/ZUIXNcq7fNM/s640/Sister+Photo+Booth.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-46465137570857816372011-02-28T08:42:00.000-08:002011-03-01T08:43:18.602-08:00#29. Culinary Adventures for OscarIs it ridiculous that when shopping for a <s>mansion</s> <s>house</s> <s>condo</s> itty bitty living space that the only thing I really truly cared about was the kitchen? Okay and maybe having a washer/dryer. And lots of closet space. And a parking spot. And some other 10100984309384091257 things (I sincerely thank the Lord that Mr. Awesome only really wanted a living room big enough for his seriously ginormous tv. We are so compatible sometimes I think, and that is just the nicest thought of all). <br />
<br />
But seriously, it was the kitchen that would make or break the place for me. There was no settling. I was going to have a fabuloso kitchen or nothing at all. It was the hard and fast rule de queen anne. Off with their heads! Let's play croquet! (can you tell I just re-read Alice & Wonderland? it was oooh sooooo gooooood).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://02varvara.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/queen-of-hearts.jpeg?w=806&h=950" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://02varvara.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/queen-of-hearts.jpeg?w=806&h=950" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">found on Google Images search</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Okay, where was I going with this? You don't know? Ha! Well, me either. We are officially screwed....or this post will be rather bi-polar. That could be fun. Let's continue, shall we?<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I love kitchens. If I could, I would spend all day with the shiny countertops and the gadgets and the neatly arranged cupboards with everything having its' own little spot and everything in its' own little spot and man! do I love order.<br />
<br />
So, yesterday, was the day of ME! I'd had it with Monday through Saturday, so Sunday was my girl. She and I were going to have a grand ol' time. And most of my grand ol' times happen in that mecca called MY KITCHEN. And Sunday, well she did not disappoint. I don't know if my happiness or Mr. Awesome's stomach was bigger by the end of the night. I'm gonna go with the happiness factor because there is almost nothing I like more than to win (WINNER! like Charlie Sheen. oh man, did I just compare myself to CharChar the nut? Well, yes I did. There it is, out there. Can't be taken back. Sighhhhhh). <br />
<br />
Are you waiting for me to get to the point? HERE IT IS....<br />
<br />
I did SO many things yesterday I'd never done before in my kitchen heaven. I made:<br />
<br />
<ol><li><b>Ribs</b>! seriously, I did. Well, the crockpot had a mighty large hand in my rib-making but I stirred that sucker for 8 hours. On & off. Like every other hour. Give or take a bit. So like 3 times (this is my blog, I suppose I should be honest.) </li>
<li><b>the best roasted potatoes EVER</b>. Is that too bold? Well too bad because it's true! I've been trying to perfect the roasted crispiness of Aunt Jane's 'taters forevvvvvvvvs and last night, my dream came true. Yes, I think I ate a bazillion potatoes. Made myself a little potato baby stomach and all. Yes, I regretted it this morning. Yes, I will probably have the leftovers for dinner tonight.</li>
<li><b>poached eggs</b> have you ever done this? If so, will you give me some tips? The egg whites kinda foamed themselves to the top and promptly turned this nasty brown color that ever Mr. Awesome the Bottomless Pit Who Eats Everything and Anything No Shame! No Shame! thought looked funktastic and wouldn't even touch with the ladle!, and the yolks were solid not runny, but they still tasted pretty delish. I will try again...some day but not soon.</li>
<li><b>roasted asparagus</b>. okay that is a cheater culinary adventure because I have certainly made asparagus before. But indulge me a bit, deal? It was the day of ME! and I'm going to count it.</li>
</ol><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-sLUjbvfNeTk/TW0fYdCG56I/AAAAAAAACyM/eMM_vmV3HBk/s1600/IMG_20110227_202006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-sLUjbvfNeTk/TW0fYdCG56I/AAAAAAAACyM/eMM_vmV3HBk/s320/IMG_20110227_202006.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-plNPRBxgxMU/TW0fZIeQR2I/AAAAAAAACyQ/DIp8SIMG4p0/s1600/IMG_20110227_202046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-plNPRBxgxMU/TW0fZIeQR2I/AAAAAAAACyQ/DIp8SIMG4p0/s320/IMG_20110227_202046.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Don't you wish you were our dinner guest? Don't you, Zack? Well, we had a super sweet awesome time without you, mister! I'm not bitter. Not at all.<br />
<br />
And I got to stalk the audience for little Davy last night while the Oscars were on. Using DVR, aka the best invention known to man, so I could skip all the boring categories and commercials. Ha!<br />
<br />
But really, I love me those Franco brothers. Seriously. They are adorable. And I know them! So I'm basically famous, too. (This day of ME! thing miiiiiiiight be going to my head, just putting it out there).<br />
<br />
And...THE END.<br />
<br />
Whew. This post was exhausting. If you are still reading, wow. You have some brain power. And patience. And I would like to borrow some when you get the chance!Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-86174231154633672672011-02-26T13:39:00.000-08:002011-02-26T13:43:34.840-08:00#28. Workin' It<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I would just like you to be informed</span></b>...that while you are doing whatever you are doing on this GLO-HO-HO-HOOOOORIOUS Saturday, I am preparing to kick arse & take names in my midterm.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-3s4uCSBRnbA/TWlyyKCHXuI/AAAAAAAACxs/xkJ4TLNiW1M/s1600/Photo+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-3s4uCSBRnbA/TWlyyKCHXuI/AAAAAAAACxs/xkJ4TLNiW1M/s320/Photo+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ob-TMaIVyRk/TWlyyaruMhI/AAAAAAAACxw/8Fj_X8EJfxY/s1600/Photo+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ob-TMaIVyRk/TWlyyaruMhI/AAAAAAAACxw/8Fj_X8EJfxY/s320/Photo+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What? You don't take pictures when <s>procrastinating</s> studying?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am hoping for a victory by 4.30 o'clock. Send back-ups if I am not out within the hour. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_wOm6gIP9Tk/TWlyysuqKvI/AAAAAAAACx0/Nn5OuwBvcrs/s1600/Photo+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_wOm6gIP9Tk/TWlyysuqKvI/AAAAAAAACx0/Nn5OuwBvcrs/s320/Photo+9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Studying on a Saturday blows chunks. Yes, yes it does.</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-56319368454520047772011-02-23T09:08:00.000-08:002011-02-23T09:08:50.622-08:00#27. Cellos Rock<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Did you know, sister friends are the best kind of friends?</b></span> Oh heck yes they are! It is so paiiiiiiiinfully obvious but I will spell it out for you anyways. Friends are great, sisters are awesome, but sister friends are the best things in the entire world. If you're even thinking of asking "why" right now, just don't. We won't get along very well after that, believe you me!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But in case you'd like me to elaborate just where this verbal (written? hmm I don't know how to classify this) declaration for the umpteenth time is coming from, you are in luck. I will do just that. I am so nice. Buy me something pretty.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I love learning things from my sister friends because, for pretty much 97.865% of the time, what they love, I love, and what they hate, revolts me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Speaking of revolting, here is a tidbit I shared with my sister friend Marge yesterday via text:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I just hiccuped so hard I vomited. thought ud appreciate the share! I love u</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">See? Aren't sister friends the best? And revolting, yes, it's true.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So anyhooooooooizzle, this is what Margie-pants shared with me in return today:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A man who can rock out on a cello, lift it above his head, and keep jamming out is my kind of rock and roll man.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">(ps - she's quite funny, isn't she?)</div><div style="text-align: center;">(pps - those are her real thoughts, fyi. not a quote. well, i guess it's a quote now!)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And you know what? I totally 1 bazillion percent agree. Cellos rock! If you don't believe me, well then obvi you are not a sister friend. And obvi you haven't gone <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtEasM--AQg">here</a>. Hello! get with the program! (says the girl who had never heard of this band till this morning).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/dtEasM--AQg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ps - isn't the yellow hat dude adorrrrrrrrrable? i love him. especially when his hat falls off and the lead dude laughs. at the Grammys. amazeballs.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">rock on with your bad self</div><div style="text-align: center;">xoxo</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-81624299960329668732011-02-22T09:04:00.000-08:002011-02-22T19:43:03.023-08:00#26. Not Everyone Can be a BA<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I have a knack for abbrev's, yes I do.</span></b> Except for the shortened form of the word "pounds" (ugh, don't even get me started!), I love to abbrev and do it almost (okay, definitely) excessively. It's great fun and makes life so much more efficient and I really truly think everyone loves it. Especially Mr. Awesome. How do I know? Well, sometimes he tries to steal my abbrev's or make up some of his own, which is just plain silly because, while I love him, he just doesn't have the knack like I do. They just kinda fall dead on their faces and he's standing there waiting for the world to laugh and love and it just doesn't happen. Breaks my lil' heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(don't worry, LOML; i promise to always abbrev enough for the both of us. ooh, should that be part of our marriage vows? hmm highly possible!)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">But, let's be serious (LBS!), sometimes you have to speak in whole words. Annoying, yes, but necessary in places like, oh, the office or with customer service phone reps or when ordering subway sandwiches (<i>turk n picks please!</i> doesn't get translated very well; trust me). This all results in the frequency of my abbrev's reaching an all-time low lately (living far apart from sister-friends doesn't help either!) and so I shocked even myself this past week in creating a whole new abbrev, which the Awesome man & I are now using quite excessively, quite!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Are you ready? Here it is....</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(drumroll, please..........!)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">B.A.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">used to describe all things relating to my awesomeness and things or others i find awesome and worthy of the designation</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">use it. love it. spread it. but not as much as Mr. Awesome. The excessive use of the word is reserved solely for yours truly because, let's face it, the rest of the world is just not as BA as me. And because </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>I do what I waaaaaaaaaaant!</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(another pretty BA phrase coined and used to excess by moi)</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-73249900962144924892011-02-18T19:04:00.000-08:002011-02-18T19:07:48.660-08:00#24. Friday Flowers<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What did I do to deserve this?</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jrO64a2vTCA/TV8zLBhoEoI/AAAAAAAACxI/KtKOIwl8g90/s1600/IMG_0354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jrO64a2vTCA/TV8zLBhoEoI/AAAAAAAACxI/KtKOIwl8g90/s400/IMG_0354.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nothing, I tell you. Abso-frickin-lutely nothing.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Think he'll still do this 50 years from now? I kinda think he will; he's just that great. </div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-46519757551066869962011-02-18T08:12:00.000-08:002011-02-18T08:20:40.528-08:00#23. Slacker-like Tendencies<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I have decided that, when I grow up, I want to be a yogi.</span></b> Or a super-fit-adorable-stay-at-home MILF who does yoga. Potato, potatoe.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now I suppose in order to further myself towards this goal, I would actually have to start practicing yoga. I mean, I've done it. I could show you a pretty mean tree pose (I can seriously stand on that one foot forever or at least until my bad hip starts hurting), downward facing dog, cobra, all that jazz. But I can't seem to find the time to make it a regular part of my week, day or even month. And it's not for lack of trying (okay, maybe it is); I've given it the good ol' college try several times! Heck, for Christmas, I even bought Mr. Awesome his own boy-colored yoga mat and got us month-long passes to a studio up the street. We went faithfully 3 times and then it got to be too much. Too much for whom or of what, I cannot say. Somethings just are meant to be left unsaid. That's how it goes. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So what was my point? Oh, yes, I want to be a yogi (slash SFASAHMILFWDY). So we are going to take baby steps towards this goal. It's actually easy to do because my company is OBSESSED with mindfulness, which I think has something or a lot of somethings to do with yoginess. Today, for instance, they encouraged me to <b><u>do nothing for 2 minutes</u></b>. Does your boss tell you to do that? It's pretty rad (although I think the non-spoken follow-up message is "then work furiously for the next 8 hours to make up for your slacker-like tendencies" of which I have a lot). But seriously, it's kinda awesome. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Go <a href="http://www.donothingfor2minutes.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">HERE</span></a>. Try it. You'll be so glad you did!</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-29272034374396106832011-02-17T20:28:00.000-08:002011-02-17T20:28:59.939-08:00#22. What did you do at work today?<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Because I did this:</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H8c1w0GaoJg/TV31HILusbI/AAAAAAAACws/kHJyNzynZEc/s1600/IMG_20110217_121929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H8c1w0GaoJg/TV31HILusbI/AAAAAAAACws/kHJyNzynZEc/s400/IMG_20110217_121929.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Top that!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Some days, I don't mind this job so much. Some days...!</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-40888444779338544332011-02-17T08:56:00.001-08:002011-02-18T07:54:27.574-08:00#21. I can sew!<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Did you know that?</span></b> Because I didn't! And, frankly, I was quite doubtful about the whole enterprise. But it was either endeavor to hold my sleeve up with one hand for the rest of my life (or portion thereof that I spend wearing my favorite gray wooley sweater-dress, which is quite a significant portion indeed!) and spend the night doing homework or go head-to-head with the needle and thread (ooh I rhymed without trying! seriously, LOVE when that happens). What would you choose?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Obviously, I went with the latter and here's how the whole thing went down. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm sitting in a (boring) meeting, minding my own business, trying desperately to fake interest in whatever was being written on the flip chart about D3 learners and whether they come from being a D4 or a D2 and what do I care blah blah blah when I feel a strange sensation on my left arm. It wasn't a tickle and it wasn't a breeze but it was feeling a little peculiar. So subtly I shift my right arm to touch my left and assume my best "hmm yes that is soooo interesting" thinking position and then promptly launch into a bit of a panic. My sleeve is no longer being held up in that adorable little scrunchy casual fashion meaning...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">WHERE</div><div style="text-align: center;">IS</div><div style="text-align: center;">MY</div><div style="text-align: center;">BUTTON</div><div style="text-align: center;">?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I do a little ants-in-my-pants dance in my seat, trying to scavenge the floor for said button, even making up imaginary rules like if I find it, I will run an extra mile today or I will volunteer to actually explain the flip chart or I will shave my legs...you know, promises of GARGANTUAN proportions. But, to no avail. The missing buttons gods did not see fit to reward my offers of sacrifice and so, all day long, nothing could usurp the fugliness of my lopsided dress from the #1 spot in my mind.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Being a proud Type A, though, I was preeeeeeeeeeetty sure that in my sewing box at home, I had saved the extra button from the dress, labeled and such like all good Type A's do, so I counted down the hours till I could race out of there. And, of course, I was right.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, I carefully lay out my dress, new button, an entire package of needles (because you just never know...and because it had never been opened before!) and the matching wooley gray string. And then</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I</div><div style="text-align: center;">SAT</div><div style="text-align: center;">THERE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I had no idea what to do next! Do I start from the inside or the outside? Do I tie both ends of the string into a knot together or just one end? How thick does this freakin knot have to be (FOUR times over. FOUR! seriously)? Now how in the heck do I tie knot at the end? Did I just put it on backwards? YES! YES I DID!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But, you know, I'm no quitter. And when I'm procrastinating from doing homework, man, nothing can break my concentration. So I labored, maybe I even broke a sweat (I'll never tell) and my dress is now gloriously symmetrical again. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">What do you do when you accomplish a major feat? Take a picture? Dang right that's what you do!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-__NTfDDHNkg/TV6R9bYaB_I/AAAAAAAACw8/vA6ZBwAkUqE/s1600/I+can+Sew%2521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-__NTfDDHNkg/TV6R9bYaB_I/AAAAAAAACw8/vA6ZBwAkUqE/s400/I+can+Sew%2521.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And then you celebrate with some of this...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOekSKatIAU/TV6TwKdPXhI/AAAAAAAACxE/Lc210c6n6wM/s1600/IMG_20110204_222205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOekSKatIAU/TV6TwKdPXhI/AAAAAAAACxE/Lc210c6n6wM/s400/IMG_20110204_222205.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-7612898285729859802011-02-16T08:16:00.000-08:002011-02-17T08:55:58.905-08:00#20. Is this Hawaii? No! It's Google!<div style="text-align: center;">Is there anything more likely to turn that frown upside down than a rainbow? Is there? Because, if so, please send a little bit my way! Until then, this is definitely good enough...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--B4CKrLxEpU/TV1LOrhD5MI/AAAAAAAACtE/EFad8Xjhb9I/s1600/PART_1297874682947.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--B4CKrLxEpU/TV1LOrhD5MI/AAAAAAAACtE/EFad8Xjhb9I/s320/PART_1297874682947.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-5047397682743394132011-02-13T20:16:00.000-08:002011-02-18T16:01:52.530-08:00#19. Ranger Nancy is my Valentine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7lTYlI55nXw/TVyXA4P1ixI/AAAAAAAACsQ/-Sw5J2fyGik/s1600/IMG_0346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7lTYlI55nXw/TVyXA4P1ixI/AAAAAAAACsQ/-Sw5J2fyGik/s400/IMG_0346.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Tell me, now, that Ranger Nancy isn't the most amazing person ever.</span></b> Ever! I spent Valentine's Eve with her and my life was forever changed. Forever! Exclamation point! Do you think she knows how much I love her? Think she knows how much I care? Oh wait, those are lyrics to <i>Fever</i>. Whatever. She's still amazeballs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here are some of the gems she gave Mr. Awesome & I on our super-creepy nighttime tour of Alcatraz (yes that was my Valentine's Day present from Mr. Awesome and yes I squealed with excitement. Best. Gift. Ever.):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>"Mush, mush, people! Let's go!"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>"This tunnel was built, oh well, hmm let's see. It was one of those years, I mean, I just can't keep all these things straight."</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i> Editor's note: this was the only date she had to give us on the whole tour<br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>"He tried to run me over! Me!" when the cart bringing people who couldn't walk up the hill asked her to move out of the way.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>"Well there's a video you can watch down in the library. I think it's about the escapees. I mean, how should I know? The title doesn't give you a very good description, now does it?"</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, now maybe you are thinking that Ranger Nancy makes a pretty lousy tour guide. You may be thinking correctly. But she made me laugh the whole time. Which helped because, let's be honest, I was a wee bit scared for most of the tour. Just a wee bit. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mSwkuEpQPqw/TV1QY7YF2TI/AAAAAAAACvU/R7fLzqL4clc/s1600/1297643465857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mSwkuEpQPqw/TV1QY7YF2TI/AAAAAAAACvU/R7fLzqL4clc/s1600/1297643465857.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how freakin' excited I am!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jz33NoDmUoE/TVyW-uYtoHI/AAAAAAAACr4/kKR05ohEYoA/s1600/IMG_0340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jz33NoDmUoE/TVyW-uYtoHI/AAAAAAAACr4/kKR05ohEYoA/s320/IMG_0340.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahh! I'm finally going!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L1_RJYntjuY/TVyW_T0WtII/AAAAAAAACsE/9yEkRPULFts/s1600/IMG_0343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L1_RJYntjuY/TVyW_T0WtII/AAAAAAAACsE/9yEkRPULFts/s320/IMG_0343.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are my friends, Lazy, Hazy & Jumper McGee</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uTF1UROUhUI/TVyXCUKUpOI/AAAAAAAACso/mdQPeiyuYbs/s1600/IMG_0351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uTF1UROUhUI/TVyXCUKUpOI/AAAAAAAACso/mdQPeiyuYbs/s320/IMG_0351.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris behind bars. Usually he's just in them :) haha</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BFpvj03ug6U/TV1QQZgSrTI/AAAAAAAACv4/DHqmrQCSedM/s1600/1297650161786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BFpvj03ug6U/TV1QQZgSrTI/AAAAAAAACv4/DHqmrQCSedM/s1600/1297650161786.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't see it, but that's the rock behind us. Ooooh, scary darkness!</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have the best Valentine ever, huh?</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-39138924225987614752011-02-11T11:11:00.001-08:002011-02-18T07:56:58.997-08:00#18. Taco & Movie Night w Mr. Awesome<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Tell me, is there anything more wonderful than the comfort of your own home?</span></b> Maybe the comfort of your own home plus a Mr. Awesome to cuddle up beside on the couch?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe9n7kJ8Uws/TV6SAHNRlmI/AAAAAAAACxA/XTmHG5vp_hM/s1600/New+End+Table+from+Nana+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe9n7kJ8Uws/TV6SAHNRlmI/AAAAAAAACxA/XTmHG5vp_hM/s400/New+End+Table+from+Nana+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's saying "My love, come sit right here!"<br />
Alternate translation "Quit taking pictures, I feel awkward, can we eat already?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Plus a movie you've been waiting to see for ohhhhhhh about three years (yes, I have a life! and no, I don't watch that many movies. seriously. it's kind of embarrassing)? Plus a deliciously cooked meal that takes all of 10 minutes to prepare and 2 minutes to eat plus some laughing at Mr. Awesome who doesn't know how to make a taco, so tries for a burrito and ends up spilling half of the ten-pound creature all over kingdom come because even it won't fit into his ginormous-sized mouth?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RnDPdi8lAMo/SALOPgbW2VI/AAAAAAAAALk/fIEgr7atveU/s1600/Superbowl2007_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RnDPdi8lAMo/SALOPgbW2VI/AAAAAAAAALk/fIEgr7atveU/s320/Superbowl2007_3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Yea...I didn't think so. It's a wonderful life (and, yes, that's a movie I've actually seen!)</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-61230579143790460362011-02-10T08:43:00.000-08:002011-02-11T11:11:02.419-08:00#17. I do NOT talk on my Cell Phone in Public Bathrooms<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Here I go again. Are you ready?</span></b> Because, truth be told, I've been in need of some up-cheering lately and what better way to do so than to toot your own horn (by the way, isn't that the greatest phrase ever invented!)? So, TOOT TOOT, the Anne Horn is sounding off. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am PROUD of the fact that I do not, never ever, in a million bazillion years plus a gazillion lifetimes, talk on my phone in public bathrooms. I mean</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">ARE</div><div style="text-align: center;">YOU</div><div style="text-align: center;">KIDDING</div><div style="text-align: center;">ME?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Not only has it been said that flushing the toilet can cause particles from said toilet to land up to SIX FEET away (seriously, don't forget to put your toothbrush in a drawer or with a handy dandy cover!) but there are other people in there!! Other people with weird sounds coming out of them!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It's</div><div style="text-align: center;">just</div><div style="text-align: center;">plain</div><div style="text-align: center;">grossssssssssssssssss</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">EW</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And how exactly do you explain those noises or the flush of the toilet to your cell phone companion. "Hey, what was that? Are...are you in the bathroom?" "No, no don't be silly. That was just the cat coughing up a hairball." "You're a cat person? I'm hanging up now..."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So basically what I'm saying is that you lose your friends either way. Just don't do it, people. Just don't. You will thank me later, I am sure. You're welcome!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRmpFiScpJYXwprf2MosqABcvj6Ng6Pyh28nR2cHVzH7cme9uaW&t=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRmpFiScpJYXwprf2MosqABcvj6Ng6Pyh28nR2cHVzH7cme9uaW&t=1" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117676872153125953.post-33551853266647478392011-02-09T17:53:00.000-08:002011-02-09T17:55:51.674-08:00#16. The Black-Haired Kids<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Must love dogs should have been a requirement to get into the family.</span></b> However, had that been the case, neither Papa John nor I would have been admitted to the fun. Sadness, I know! But as a little kid, I just didn't want to get diiiiiiiirty and dogs were diiiiiiiiiirty. Bummer, Basil, Babe, Spot, Buddy - all of them outdoor lovelies who just couldn't get enough of the dirt and the mud and then jumping on all four feet nothing of little ol' me - it's enough to scare the beejeezus outta anyone, I tell ya! And it probably didn't help that Mama Wills would threaten to leave us and take only the dogs when we were bad...which was pretty much all the time with 5 girls in the house!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But then came along Jilly & Bean's rolly-polly goodness and something changed. For one, they got to stay inside for most of the time, thus eliminating much of the diiiiiiiiiirty dilemma. For another, they were just adorable and cuddly and uber snobbish (Jilly) and Eeyore-ish-ly depressed (Bean). I'd never seen such personalities in dogs up close before and my soft feelings got the better of me and I LoVeD them....after, of course, the first weekend we met in which they woke me up at 4:45am to piddle all over me while in bed and then ate ONE of my favorite sneakers. One! What was I supposed to do with one ruined, one fabulous? Le sigh...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tomorrow, the little monsters turn 7 and I wish I were home to celebrate. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. I love those little suckers as if they were my own brother & sister...which of course, we tell them that they are. They've got Papa John's black hair (and they're also starting to go gray just like him, too, heehee!).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Birthday, J&B! Here's my best impression of you...see the family resemblance???<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rzDu0EsbR4k/TVNFdMWa96I/AAAAAAAACps/7LabnNXsdk0/s1600/IMG_20110209_074138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rzDu0EsbR4k/TVNFdMWa96I/AAAAAAAACps/7LabnNXsdk0/s320/IMG_20110209_074138.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
</div>Annabellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10968748654226073970noreply@blogger.com0